


Facade

by PriestessAsarose



Category: Dark Souls III
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood and Gore, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PriestessAsarose/pseuds/PriestessAsarose
Summary: An Unkindled came to the Farron Keep in the Wolf Knight Set and defeated the formidable Undead Legion with unusually practised ease.Out of his malevolent nature, he decided to take some rather peculiar spoils.
Relationships: Ashen One/Captain of Farron's Undead Legion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 45





	Facade

**Author's Note:**

> The author is no native speaker of English, thus please do expect potential grammar or spelling oddities.

Was the figure real or just a hallucination?

After receiving one last severe blow from the Unkindled, the Captain of the Undead Legion collapsed upon the ground. His greatsword and crooked dagger slipped out of his limp hands. 

Blood was leaving him through his wounds at a drastic speed as well as strength and sobriety. He could no longer keep an eye on his adversary with now blurry vision, still he sensed the echoes of approaching heavy footsteps.

Finally, the victor was coming to off him.

The very Unkindled had previously announced himself at the gate of the Farron Keep alone, flanked by the white phantom of neither the Black Hand nor the Pale Shade. It caught his attention that the trespasser was dressed in no ordinary armour set, as the twilight blue cape and helm tassel indicated its precise origin. When and where had he come into possession of Artorias’s legacy, the Captain could only surmise, but he had no luxury to brood on his own perplexity. The Unkindled carried himself with immense agility, shifting his stance and parrying swiftly. None of their slam or slash did him any visible harm. It seemed that he had known their attacking pattern in heart, more so, he took advantage of their frenzied red-eyed peer to even out the odds. 

Had he fought with a member of the Undead Legion before? The Captain did not recognize his intractable enemy. Perhaps it was related to the Wolf Knight’s armour and greatsword, of which the initial owner they drew inspiration from for their own fighting techniques, and whatever hardship he had gone through to obtain them.

Artorias, their honourable pioneer, was the first ever to repel the Abyss and sacrificed himself to this noble cause in the end. His distinctive attire served as a perfect reminder of their duties.

Or a reminder of your own fate, a woeful fate entwined solely with curses. A nearly inaudible voice whispered to his ears.

He ignored it and flung himself at his adversary to strike once again.

The burning Blood of the Wolf circulated in his veins. His greatsword ignited with flame and his own rage. He strode towards the Unkindled with resolution, for there was no others fighting against or alongside him. All of his comrades had fallen, to the intruders, to the Abyss or to one another. Pillars of flame emerged in the hall. The Unkindled, who manoeuvred through the flame smoothly, circled around him with great caution and evaded all of his attacks, striking only at the right opportunity, as it was a second nature to him. He predicted everything whilst remained absolutely unpredictable. Whether it was owing to his flexible fighting styles or acute observation was still a mystery.

At the moment, the Captain of the Undead Legion was evidently losing this battle. With fiery ardour fuelled by excruciating despair, the Captain leapt forward and swung his greatsword to take another swipe. The power of the flame which was eroding his sanity from inside, prompted him to fight in a more aggressive way, to burn off his enemy and the woeful life of his accursed self.

Ever since the day he had sworn his allegiance and affiliated himself to the Undead Legion, he had been following the path of Abyss Watchers with unswerving conviction. One Artorias’s legacy had given him a lease of new life, presumably he was doomed to his own end at the hands of another.

The Unkindled ground the pointed helm beneath his heel and poised the Wolf Knight Greatsword, seemingly intending to behead his foe. 

So, here comes the ultimate demise. Lying motionless on the ground, the Captain mused silently to himself. 

Then a sharp pang shot through his body following the Unkindled’s movement, but his head was still intact and connected to his neck. The greatsword impaled him right through the central part of his back, deeply into the flagstone floor. Under his body has formed a puddle of his own blackened blood. Broken ribs and fractured spines made him let out the last groan of pain, before the bewildered numbness wholly occupied his mind.

The Unkindled crouched down by his side. A pair of hands found their way on the inanimate body, fingers trailing along the muscled curve and skimming over the supple ridges of his hips, with the searing heat of Ember. The Unkindled leaned onto him and pressed a knee between his thighs, forcing them to spread more apart.

It suddenly dawned on the Captain that the Lord Seeker yearned for not merely warmth of the Flame. Men had always lusted over carnal pleasure, death after death, rebirth after rebirth. 

Even had become a creature of the damned, yet the Unkindled somehow retained the primitive desire in a morbid way. 

And now, he was the spark to rekindle it. 

He was the vessel to contain it.

The Unkindled yanked up his lower body, forcing him into a kneeling position. The edge of the greatsword in his chest cut through his crushed flesh and delicate organs. The blunt scent of shed blood, of his own or his fallen peers, returned to haunt him. The desperate Unkindled picked up his crooked dagger to split open his chainmail. The breeches were cut and torn off roughly, his intimate part exposed to the predator.

The sound of rustling came from his back. The Unkindled fumbled with his own belt and chausses, took off those garments to reveal his monstrous erection. Although his expression shadowed by the helm and blue hood, the Captain could sense the intense gaze and something even more sinister. The Unkindled heaved out a complacent sigh when he rubbed over his shaft and pushed it between the Captain’s buttocks, his fingers poking around the closed cleft no so dry for the seeping blood of internal injuries. Despite that he nudged his erection against the opening of the entrance, the Unkindled took no hurry in entertaining himself. His hands glided down to the Captain’s blood-tainted abdomen then groin, caressed his scarred skin adorned with fresh open wounds, and took hold of the limp penis. The Unkindled stroked it inadvertently, in a style more of fondle than tease, then positioned his swollen member at his foe’s rear, forcing himself in inch by inch. Soft flesh and viscous blood engulfed his hardened flesh, which added a flutter to his raw motion, sending a jolt of abrupt pleasure through his entire body. He hunched over to grasp the hips of the Captain and started to move in a pulsating rhythm.

The lifeless undead on the ground, bracing against the stone floor, struggled to hold himself still, and to avert the unceasing crushing of the blade plunged into him. Fate was truly a wickedly excruciating entity, as he was here, nailed into ground immobile by Artorias’s Greatsword, degraded and used like a plaything by someone who defeated him in Artorias’s armour set. He uttered a muffled whimper when his effort was vanquished in vain. The previous tranquilizing numbness been cast away, the remnant of his cold blood was inflamed by such foul play of savagery, which caused his bowels to churn with fear and agitation. Wolf’s Blood surged through his withered veins, merged with the infused heat of Ember, only to aggravate the sinful impulsion. When his predator fervently pounding into his inside, with passion almost felt righteous, like fire hailing from the divine realm, which in truth was rising from the deepest of the Abyss. His whole body convulsed in the tormenting indulgence, trapped by the trespasser and his greatsword, unable to flee.

The Unkindled kept on the fierce pace, the tight hole of his cracked foe clenching involuntarily around him, hot in a world of cold. The obscene sound of squelching synchronized with the Unkindled’s coarse panting, reverberating in the empty hall. He thrusted in and out of that wet passage of warmth and tightness, his head tilting back, his body bucking and jerking, he fastened his grip on the Captain’s waist to accelerate his movement. He growled hoarsely when he came, the bliss of orgasm swirling in his every nerve. White cum compouded with blood seeped out from the place where they conjoined.

“I must admit, your kind are always such a delight.” The Unkindled wheezed out a contented whine, his half-hard member still buried in the abused hole of the Captain. He spoke the first words since they crashed their swords together.

“And you are no exception, Captain.” Behind him the Unkindled chuckled darkly. He readjusted their position then pulled out his now released member. A trace of spunk leaked out of the abused hole and dripped down along his thighs.

“I remember your predecessor, or it could just be you, which is frivolous.” He grunted impatiently as he tidied himself up. “He was fabulous indeed, so fresh and sensual to my taste, despite his lack of voluptuous artifices of strumpets. I almost wished to keep him afterwards, that enticing creature.” Towering over the undead on the ground, the Unkindled overlooked and admired the culpable mess by his own hand. “But as you see, I had no choice. I needed the Cinder.” 

The Captain could not understand such an act of delirium or any of those senseless words. He strived to raise his weak head to look at his offender in the face, but could not utter his words as his dry tongue failed him.

“Who I am is of no significance. Anyhow you will not recall this face next time we encounter each other.” The Unkindled threw off a contemptuous sneer. He reached out to draw out his greatsword.

The Captain barely made out anything the Unkindled said. He had lived all his life on this land where abyssal abominations and malformed monsters roaming free and amok, which he faced, fought and slew. But nobody like this. Nothing like this. Not even the notorious cannibal Aldrich had developed such a repugnant vice, taking pleasure from defiling their adversary in such a deviant way.

But it was his illustrious prowess in battlefield that counted for his selection to link the First Flame. No matter how degenerate he was, as long as he was capable to restore Cinders of the Lords to their thrones, he would fulfil his duty some day and become the succeeding Lord of Cinder.

What a paradox it would be for the Age of Fire to prolong itself and beam the warmth of the Sun credited with the gruesome glory of this abomination.

The Captain gave a derisive snort to the dead ancient gods in his heart, his eyes out of focus.

“Like I said, I came here to claim your Cinder.” The one in Artorias’s outfit raised the Wolf Knight’s Greatword and readied his arm for the upcoming execution.


End file.
